The Little Blind Girl
by reflect.clouds
Summary: Megan is blind. She had always been sheltered but when she discovers her mutation, a new school gives her more than she ever knew. Meanwhile, a certain pyro is trying to rebuild his life and find a purpose in his old home. P/OC, B/K, maybe Rogan?
1. Homecoming

**Alright, I know there are more than enough John/OC stories on here. But, hopefully, this one should be different. I'm trying not to do the whole, fiery-tempered, all-powerful Mary Sue approach. Hopefully Megan will be a bit more real. Also, please correct me if I say anything that is incorrect in regard to her - I myself am not blind, so I'm writing purely from what I've read in books and my imagination. Please review and I'll update - I know this chapter's long and jumps around a bit, but next chapter will probably be better. Review please!!!**

**Thanks for reading - reflect.clouds x x**

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John Allerdyce sat in a small, dirty bar in a practically non-existent town; it consisted of three shops, a bar and a few houses, and no one even knew what it was called. All they knew was that it was a halfway point, a rest stop between wherever they were going. John had been there for two days, living either in the bar or on the streets. Right then, he examined a grimy glass filled with beer, seated at an unsteady wooden table, and wondered what on earth he was doing with his life.

It had been five months since Alcatraz. Five months of living on stolen cash, sleeping wherever he happened to be at the time and waking up to a heavy hangover every morning. Now, at ten o'clock at night in the middle of winter, he stared into the beer and wondered how much longer he was going to do this. Not for the first time, he wished he had taken Magneto's offer to rejoin the Brotherhood. The old man had begun regrouping as soon as he discovered that the Cure was not as permanent as everyone thought. Personally, John thought it was a waste of time, and he had told Magneto so when the man had found him drunk in a pub somewhere in Michigan. He didn't want to spend his life fighting for a lost cause. Surprisingly, Magneto had accepted the news, but warned John against going back to his old school - as if they would take him back anyway. Mystique had been with him, blue skin regained; she had apparently forgiven Magneto for abandoning her. He knew he wouldn't have. But Mystique knew no life away from Magneto, he reflected, then thought with a smile that at least she had that. He had thought he needed his own life, a free path for him to make his own. Now though, he thought with a sigh, he would give anything to have a cause to fight for. Maybe he should go back to the school.

Immediately he shook his head, as if to clear away the ridiculous notion. If he was thinking that, he obviously wasn't drunk enough. Draining his glass, he signalled to the barman for another. The barman frowned but obliged, bringing another glass over. John ran a hand through his dirty hair and sighed, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to sleep so badly, but he had nowhere to go. If he was drunk enough, he would sleep anywhere, but he wasn't. Not yet.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn around. Three men stood behind him, all taller and tougher then he was. John's hand found his lighter in his pocket. He had learnt from past experience that it paid to be prepared. He planned to be. He wasn't going to be beaten this time.

"You got a problem?" He asked, getting to his feet unsteadily. The middle man sneered.

"That was my girl you were coming on to last night." John struggled to remember the events of last night. He couldn't recall coming on to a girl, but given his recent behaviour, it seemed likely.

"Well what're you going to do about it?" He tried to sound tough, but only succeeded in sounding drunker than he thought he was. Even he knew he was asking for trouble now.

"This, asshole!" The man slammed his fist into John's stomach, sending him flying backwards into the table and onto the floor. Everyone around him rapidly stood up, clearing out the bar.

"Take it outside!" The bartender yelled furiously. "I've got a business to run, so get out of here!"

"I got this all under control," The man snarled at the bartender. "We're gone." He and his friends grabbed John, dragging him through the door and chucking him onto the hard, ice cold snow outside. John winced as his body hit the ground, but got to his feet and turned to face them. He spat out the blood in his mouth onto the snow where it stood out against the white.

"Time for a lesson, creep. Stay away from my girl." The man kicked John in the stomach, knocking him back down again. His friend grinned and slammed his foot into the side of John's head. He gasped with pain, clenching his fists so tightly that blood seeped from under his nails. He didn't want to end like this, but these guys were going to kill him. He didn't want to die. As the men closed in, their heavy boots impacting on every inch of his body, he repeated that over and over again, his hand moving down to his pocket, clutching at his lighter. He didn't want to die.

The flame erupted, knocking the men backwards. He forced himself to stand up, forced himself to run, the bright flames surrounding him, keeping him upright. He fell onto the main road, scrambling up again to find himself facing a terrified young man, clutching his car wheel in horror at the strange sight before him.

"Get out of the car!" John roared, the flames burning furiously. "Get out of the car now!" The man hurriedly flung open the door and clumsily fell out onto the road, desperate to get away. He chucked the keys at John, who had put out the fire climbed into the car and drove away into the night. He knew where he was going now.

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Storm frowned, tapping her pencil against the desk as she read through yet another History essay. She had already seen eighteen, and was ready to die of boredom. Sighing, she pushed the essay away, vowing to finish it later. She had enough to do as it was.

After Alcatraz, Storm had stepped into the role of Head of the Xavier School for the Gifted. Until then she had unappreciated how difficult the role was. With three of the most important teachers dead, including the Professor, Storm had had severe staffing problems. Luckily Logan had agreed to remain, Kurt Wagner had come all the way from Germany to lend his assistance, and Hank occasionally dropped by to do what he could. She needed it. Three months after Alcatraz, the Cure reached its expiration date and distraught mutants began pouring in from all over America, looking for shelter after their most crushing disappointment. To her credit, Rogue had taken it as well as she could, but even so everyone could see how much she suffered. It wasn't fair to her, to have had that precious chance at a normal life, and to have it so cruelly snatched away. It had taken Logan a week to coax the heartbroken girl out of her room, and when she emerged it was like all the life had been taken out of her. She had improved since then with the help of Bobby and Logan, who had shaken some of the life back into her. Even so, everyone could see how hard she struggled to hold herself together.

She contemplated starting the essays again when Logan came flying into the room. She looked up in shock, half-rising from her desk.

"Logan, what's wrong?"

"You'll never guess who's back."

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Storm and Logan rushed downstairs, ignoring the confused looks of students as they hurried down to the labs. Storm almost didn't believe Logan. She had thought he was dead, just like the hundreds of others killed by the Phoenix at Alcatraz. What was he doing here?

The two adults practically ran down the corridor, Storm's heart in her throat. The doors to the medical room slid open, and she gasped as she saw who lay strapped to the table.

John Allerdyce, also known as Pyro, was unconscious on the examination table. Dr. Hank McCoy looked up as the two came in, gesturing silently to the body beside him. The young man was bruised and bleeding, his bare skin filthy. Hank had removed his top, and his body was thin and emaciated. Every inch of him was covered in cuts or bruises, the few spaces of clear skin coated with grime. His blonde hair was filled with dust, dirt and blood. Storm came up to the table, feeling only pity for the boy in front of her.

"I opened the door and he was there," Logan told her. "Looking like this. No words, he just collapsed. I thought I should bring him down here."

"Can we do anything?" She asked gently.

"Of course." Hank told her. "There's nothing serious here, just bruises and shallow cuts. Nothing that won't heal over time. But..."

"But?"

"Storm, we can't keep him here. He's a wanted terrorist."

"He needs our help. I know that he deserted us, but everyone deserves a second chance. He's just a kid," Storm even surprised herself with the words. Where had that come from?

"A kid with a destructive nature," Logan added, coming to stand beside her. "Still, the least we could do is help him to heal."

"What about when he wakes up? What then? He killed a lot of people, and we're just going to let him get away with that?" Hank frowned, a firm believer in his set, unwavering morals.

"We can't just turn him in. I'm assuming he came here of his own free will, for our help. That's what we're going to give him," Storm sighed. She couldn't explain this sudden rush of compassion, but she had a feeling it was to do with the amount of runaways she'd seen over the last few months. They all looked exactly the same as the boy in front of her – well, maybe not quite so bad – and they had all made harsh mistakes which, in a lot of cases, had cost lives. After months of listening to their stories, she supposed it wasn't a wonder she wanted to give them all some peace. Including the one in front of her.

"The school is filling up fast. Everyone's got enough to deal with without having to look after an insane pyrokinetic murderer!"

"He's staying," Storm stated firmly. The two men turned to look at her in surprise. She tapped her foot. Storm was the only one who could remember the very first day John Allerdyce had arrived at the mansion, clutching a lighter and not much else. She saw the same expression on his face now, and although in her mind she could still see the blond terrorist who had blown up cars at Alcatraz, she also saw the brown-haired teenager who'd come to their door because he needed help. It was that John, not Pyro, which she felt the urge to help. "Look at him Hank. You may see a terrorist, but all I see is a young, misguided boy who needs help. He's not the only one who's been guilty of hating humans."

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John Allerdyce was having a very bad dream. In it, he was running through a long tunnel that was lit up with all the colours of fire. Black, red and blinding yellow. The concrete was wet and the light was reflected in the water too. It was all around him, the fire, and he could feel it at his back like a wall of heat. He didn't want to turn around anyway, to see it behind him, but when he tried he found he couldn't. So he kept running. But why was he running? He could control it, couldn't he? _Don't stop running, John. _Why not? _Don't stop or the bad thing will happen. _He told himself it was a dream and nothing bad could happen, but that voice was still there and it scared him. _Don't stop running. Never stop. _The fire was bigger now, roaring behind him. Maybe that was the bad thing and if it was, he had nothing to fear. _There's more to come. The bad thing is yet to come. _Then suddenly he wasn't in a tunnel, he was Somewhere Else.

The danger room. From the school, except different. The same room but like someone had sharpened it, brightened it, until it didn't look like the place he knew. And, for some reason, Bobby was there. Now John knew it was a dream, because Bobby was holding Kitty's hand and crying. Well, he always known that Bobby was a wimp so the crying didn't really surprise him. But Kitty? Didn't Bobby like Rogue? And then he realised it wasn't Kitty, it had been Rogue all along, and she was laughing while Bobby cried.

_John, you're back, _she said but she didn't sound like the Rogue he remembered. She sounded like Mystique but she wasn't Mystique because if she was then Bobby wouldn't hold her hand. _You've come back to us. _

_Who are you? _John asked stupidly. Rogue laughed but she wasn't Rogue anymore, she was Callisto, but why was she here? And Bobby wasn't crying, he was laughing like he'd never been crying at all...

_We forgive you, John. We'll take care of it all now. It doesn't matter that you left because you're back now. We forgive you. _And they kept on laughing, laughing, laughing and then John realised that the fire was still behind him and he tried to run but Bobby and Callisto-Rogue-Kitty were there and they just kept on laughing, _we'll take care of it all now. It doesn't matter anymore. We'll fix it all._

_GET OUT OF THE WAY! _John was screaming because the fire was there and the bad thing was there behind it...

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At the same time as John Allerdyce was dreaming of running through a fiery tunnel, Megan Ruthie was opening a tub of ice cream in her home in Maine. At least she hoped it was ice cream – her only way of guessing was by the cold feel of the tub in her hands. Megan Ruthie was blind. She had been blind since birth, but even after seventeen years she still found herself in difficulty when it came to finding food. Her mum had made sure they never moved, so Megan could make her way around with ease. Even in the kitchen, she knew exactly where the freezer and the fridge were, where the cupboards that held pasta and bread respectively were. It was when it came to what was in the cupboards that she often got stuck.

Anne Ruthie had told her daughter many times that if she wanted food, she could just ask. But at seventeen, Megan felt a twinge of embarrassment every time she had to go to her mum for help. And, in general, she could tell what was what. Obviously broccoli was broccoli and carrots were carrots, so there was no problem with vegetables or fruits. It was things in tins or packages that could sometimes be tricky. After all, one tin feels exactly like another. Still, Megan went on her instincts and they were usually correct. She called it Feeling, because if she concentrated hard enough she could Feel what something was – everything had its own Feeling. Especially people. Megan's therapist, Mr McGowen, said that those blind from birth often developed a high sensitivity to the presence or absence of things (particularly people) in their area. Megan knew it was true, because if she focused hard enough she could Feel where people were in a room and, if she knew them well enough, who they were.

Her mother said it wasn't good for her to concentrate too hard but Megan did anyway – in secret of course. It made not being able to see easier, that she could sense better than anyone else. Mr McGowen called it 'making your senses do double-duty'. She could hear better, smell better, taste better, _feel_better than anyone who could see. It made things bearable. Sometimes, if Megan tried hard enough, she almost thought she could see. Not through her eyes, but through the eyes of her mother or another person she was close to. It took a lot of focus and need, and it could be exhausting at times, but when she managed it then she could see the world – grey, shadowy, blurred but still _there. _Mr McGowen said 'sight-sharing', as he called it, was a fantasy often imagined by the blind, and could be very dangerous when one tried to hard to depend on it. So Megan didn't do _that, _but sometimes she would play games with her Feeling, to see how well it worked.

"Meggie, are you down there?" She heard her mother call. Anne Ruthie had a nervous disposition. She was a small woman, shorter than Megan, with soft hair and a tiny frame. What she actually looked like, Megan couldn't say – colours were meaningless to her as well as any physical attributes she couldn't touch. The wife of a wealthy businessman, Anne was the primary carer of her two daughters and son. She had never been outgoing but she was terribly loyal and put all her energy into looking after her children, particularly Megan.

"Yes, Mum, I'm in the kitchen," Megan replied. The sound of footsteps on the stairs floated through the air.

"Honey! It's nearly eleven o' clock! You should be in bed!"

"I got hungry," Megan answered honestly. She slid the ice cream tub onto the counter behind her, hoping her mother wouldn't make the connection. Anne came into the kitchen and Megan could feel her eyes on her.

"Well, you should've come and asked me," Anne told her daughter, sounding her usual mixture of concern and frustration. "I do wish you would, Meggie, you shouldn't be walking around alone." Megan rolled her eyes behind her huge sunglasses. She always wore them, no matter where she was or what time it was. The ones she wore at the moment were her favourites but they all mostly looked the same to those who knew her – black and huge enough to cover what her father described jokingly as 'half her face'.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she apologised. Megan didn't like upsetting her mother because she knew how difficult it must be for her, having to look after two normal, rowdy kids as well as a blind girl.

"It's okay, Meggie," Anne sighed. "Now, please let's go back up to bed. Tomorrow, we have to meet some important people." Megan held her mother's elbow obediently.

"Important people?" She asked as they went up the stairs. Megan could feel the tension in her mother's body, in the atmosphere.

"Yes. Very important. It's just me and you, Meggie. It's our secret."

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Storm sat in her office, staring at the glowing figures on her clock blindly. Midnight. The next day she had a meeting with a woman from Maine and her daughter at midday, and although the woman and her daughter were flying over to Westchester especially, she would still have to be up at ten in order to be ready. The woman must be rich, to pay for a flight in order to have one conversation. As Storm understood it – the email had been very brief – the woman had suspicions that her daughter could be a mutant but she didn't want anyone else to know. Storm sighed, rubbing her eyes and burying her head in her hands. She was going to go to bed, she decided. She needed to rest. Then, tomorrow she would see this woman and her daughter, mark all the work she hadn't finished yet and see how her staff were getting on. She wondered how Charles had managed it all and realised they hadn't given him nearly enough credit. It was a lot harder than he'd made it look.


	2. Revelations

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm going to try to get a chapter up every week, seeing as I (vaguely) have a plot. This chapter's a bit of a cliff-hanger, but that's just to keep your interest up. I hope I got Rogue right. Oh, and could any of you tell me what happened at the end of the third movie during the credits? I (being stupid) walked out when they started and didn't see that bit. Reviews love!**

**Anyway, thanks to: Certh, Small-Fri, Cath, Ashley, xdanishxpastryx. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own X Men. I own Megan and her mum, but that's about it.**

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Before that morning, Megan didn't even know where Westchester was. She didn't even know that there _was _a Westchester, so when her mother told her to get dressed because they were getting a plane there she was considerably surprised. Not as surprised as some might've been; Megan's father was often taking his children off on plane journeys whenever he felt like it – he called it 'bonding time'. But that was on a private plane, and Megan's mother had taken her on a public plane. Megan had never been on a public plane before and she found the experience disconcerting – so many people all around her, waiting in queues, banging her with their suitcases and talking loudly over one another in a babble of foreign languages. Megan's father, Ryan Ruthie, didn't approve of his children on public planes – it was one of those odd things, like people who hate gum-chewing – so Megan didn't know why her mother had taken her on one. Unless her father didn't know, because he would definitely not have agreed to it. The fact that her younger siblings, Shelly and Michael, weren't with her didn't bother Megan; she often had to go off to far away places in planes with just her mother, when she went to see her doctors. They were the ones that told her one day she would be able to see again, because she could feel the light. She could always feel the light, like heat in her head.

Now Megan was in a taxi, to Westchester presumably. When she had asked where they were going, 'Westchester, New York' was the only answer she received, which worried her. Her mother seemed unusually tense and stressed – she had barely said a word the entire ride. Megan bit her lip and folded her hands in her lap, wondering what the landscape was. She didn't like going off to strange places, especially when she had no idea of what was going to be there. _When I get my operation, I'll be able to see and stupid things like this won't matter so much._ Still, she felt panic stir in her brain and suppressed it, counting to ten silently. Her mother didn't appear to notice. Megan continued the counting, going over the circumstances with logic to soothe her nerves. _1, 2, 3, 4..._her father didn't know where she was, or he'd never have let her on a public aeroplane. He was like that about aeroplanes. Which meant her mother was hiding something from him. _5, 6, 7, 8..._and now they were somewhere in New York, or so she had been told. What was in New York? Was that the city or the state? Somewhere that her mother didn't want her father to find out about, so it couldn't be a doctor or a specialist. _9, 10, 1, 2, 3..._they'd been driving for hours. Wherever they were going, it took time to get there. None of that gave her much reassurance – in fact, it made the fear worse. Megan had to clench her fists to stop the panic. _Mum wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. I'm going to be just fine._

"Meggie honey, we're here." Her mother's voice was like a shock in the silence but Megan didn't jump. She just nodded and let her mother help her out of the taxi. While her mother paid the man, she tapped her foot on the gravel and shivered. It was colder than she'd thought; she'd only brought a thin denim jacket. There was no noise apart from a few distant children's shouts, so she figured that they weren't in a city. She wished more than anything that she could see, just so she wouldn't be so helpless in circumstances like this. "Are you cold?" She heard her mother ask. "I told you to put a warmer jacket on."

"Well, I didn't know we'd be going to _Westchester,_" Meggie snapped, feeling irritated. "Mum, where are we?" Anne made no reply, simply taking her daughter's elbow and leading her forward. Megan resisted the urge to pull free – where would she go? Most likely she wouldn't get four paces before falling over. They were walking on patio now; Megan could feel the difference through her shoes. Her mother pressed the bell and Megan instinctively shrank back as it opened.

"Mrs Ruthie?" A woman's voice, kind and slightly stressed. Surprised too. Megan recognised a teacher's voice when she heard one and she relaxed slightly. She had been taught to trust those with a teacher-voice because it meant they were in authority, even though she knew better than to rely on that instinct.

"Yes," her mother answered anxiously. Megan had never heard her sound so prim and uptight. "May we see Miss Munroe?"

"You're speaking to her," the other woman – Miss Munroe – answered in a marginally more cheerful tone. "Would you like to come into my office?" Megan's mother tightened her grip on Megan's arm and they followed Miss Munroe's clicking heels on what Megan recognised as a marble floor. "Here we are."

"I'd like to speak to you in private first, if you please," Megan's mother stated. Megan could hear the tension and it made her nervous too. "Could Megan wait outside?" Megan's composure slipped a bit. She was to be left alone, in this strange place?

"Of course," Miss Munroe replied but she sounded a bit bewildered. "Megan, you can sit on that bench there." Megan didn't know what bench or where, but evidently her mother did because she steered her and settled her onto the seat like one would a doll.

"Stay there," Anne told her daughter. "Don't move anywhere, do you understand?" Megan just nodded, clenching the seat of the bench so hard her fingers hurt. She wouldn't move. Not here, where she knew where nothing was. She felt her mother leave and go into the office with Miss Munroe. Now she was alone. _1, 2, 3, 4... _

Megan wondered what where she was. She wondered what the place looked like, what sort of place it was. _5, 6, just find out, 7, 8, you know you can do it..._and she could if she wanted, but she wasn't supposed to. Megan took a deep breath to calm herself, sitting back on the bench. She could feel the panic inside her, threatening to come out like a trapped animal in an almost broken cage. She was alone and her Sighted person was gone. Surely those were mitigating circumstances? At any rate, she was seventeen and old enough to choose what course of action to take. But she needed to hurry. A cry was building up inside her but she held it back. She would not do something that would embarrass herself or her mum. No, she would find out this for herself.

_Are you sure you want to do this? _A voice inside her head asked.

_Yeah, I am, _Megan told herself firmly. She took a deep breath and held herself completely, utterly still. Then she listened. Her ears, used to doing double-duty, tuned in on the low murmurs coming from the rooms around her. In some there was one person talking, in others there were many people talking. A hotel? A hospital? The second seemed more likely. _Now, for the harder part._Megan focused on that Feeling, the feeling inside her like a miniature radar, and swept it out through the air, covering every inch of space. There were no people within about ten metres of her, but she broadened the range just in case. No, wherever she was, it was empty. So she focused on the objects instead. _A corridor because it Feels narrow, going down into a wider room. Stairs in the wider room, pillars too and more c__orridors leading off from there__Doo__rs leading off from the corridor.__And someone there__, in the wide room__Coming.__ Small...well, not that small...young...__how did they just appear? _

"Hi!" The cheerful voice interrupted Megan's explorations and she blinked her sightless eyes behind their dark lenses, smiling tentatively. "What are you doing here?"

"My mum's seeing Miss Munroe," Megan answered the girl. After all, she sounded friendly enough and there was nothing about her that felt particularly wrong or malicious.

"Professor Munroe? Cool, that means you're new then. I'm Kitty, by the way. Kitty Pryde. And yeah, I should be in class but I got sent out for talking. I mean, how ridiculous is that? It wasn't like I was talking to myself – at the very least Jubilee could've been sent out with me."

"I'm Megan, Megan Ruthie," Megan answered. "And...could you tell me where I am? My mum didn't say and I...I'm blind." It was always slightly embarrassing admitting that – the whole _please help me, I'm a little blind girl, help me, _act was humiliating for a seventeen year old. She wondered what Kitty looked like, whether she was surprised or unsure, smiling or planning an escape.

"Blind, huh? I kind of suspected that, because of the sunglasses. Most people don't wear them indoors. At first I thought you were on of those 'fashionista' types with the big sunglasses look, but there was something about the way you moved your head. Funny how you can tell that sort of thing, isn't it? And as for where you are, you're in Xavier's School for the Gifted," Kitty replied, not sounding at all bothered by Megan's lack of vision. "But that's a bit of a mouthful, so we call it Mutant High." Megan's jaw dropped and her sightless eyes widened behind the dark lenses.

"Mutants?" She repeated in shock. Megan knew what mutants were – she'd heard about them on the news – but she'd never actually met one before. She didn't even realise there were schools for those sorts of people. Come to think of it, she'd always been told mutants as Bad People, the sort that should be locked up automatically – her dad absolutely hated them. Still, Megan had never really bothered about them; to her, they were just something that her dad occasionally got angry about, something that never came anywhere into her life. Why had her mum brought her here? "Does that mean you're a mutant?"

"Yeah," Kitty answered and Megan could hear the pride in her voice. "Isn't that why you're here? Because you're a mutant?"

"No way," Megan replied, shaking her head. "I'm not a mutant. Well, if I am I never noticed it before." She was certain of that. The only thing different about her was that she was blind, unless that was her mutation. She couldn't help thinking that that would be a really bad power to have.

"Weird," Kitty stated, sitting beside her on the bench. She was a skinny girl, Megan noted when Kitty's arm brushed hers. "I don't know what you're doing here then. Maybe your mum got mixed up and came to the wrong place."

"I hope not," Megan sighed, thinking how annoying it would be if she was right. "We had to get on a plane to come here."

"A plane?" Kitty gasped and Megan could hear the newfound respect in her voice. "You must be pretty rich to get a plane here just for one day. Unless you're staying?"

"I doubt it," Megan shrugged. "I didn't pack anything and I didn't notice anything missing this morning. I guess I'll have to wait and see."

"How would you tell?" Kitty asked curiously. "I mean, if you can't...you know, see it."

"I can just tell," Megan shrugged. Then she grinned. "I lose stuff all the time of course. I'm supposed to put everything back in the same place when I use it, but I always forget or I can't be bothered. Still, if everything's in its right place then I can find things easy enough. I mean, I wouldn't notice if something small went missing, but I'm pretty sure I'd feel it if half my clothes weren't in my wardrobe."

"Fair enough," Kitty replied. "That sounds pretty cool – my room's a tip. I share with Jubilee and she's got her side of the room covered in posters that always fall off in the night, multi-coloured clothes covering every inch of space and her magazines _everywhere_. Half our walls are pink, from when we started painting them and then ran out of paint, so the other half's white. At the moment our floor's all messed up because we had a semi-slumber party about two nights ago and she managed to tip an entire bottle of Coke on the floor. The drink, not the drug so don't worry," she laughed. "And as for my side...clothes, ice skating boots, photos, hairdryer, shoes, make up – hell, I bet even my phone is somewhere in the pile of junk on my bed!" She laughed again and Megan joined her with a twinge of envy. She didn't know what her room looked like, what colour the walls or the floor or the bed were. Sure, she knew there was a rug on the floor and the wardrobe was four paces to the left of the door, but she couldn't say what it _looked _like.

"Is this a boarding school?" Megan asked, even though that was pretty obvious from Kitty's room description.

"Yeah. You see, most of the kids here come as runaways after their families reject them and such. There are kids here who came here with nothing other than a change of clothes and some brought even less. Everyone has a roommate, unless you've got a reason for not wanting one. Like, I don't know, if your power meant you were nocturnal or something, so you liked to stay up and watch TV all night. Not such a good example, but it'll do." Megan wanted to ask if Kitty had run away from home, but thought better of it. They barely knew each other. She was about to ask about the sort of lessons they had when the door opened beside her.

"Kitty, what are you doing here?" Miss Munroe asked in surprise. "Shouldn't you be in class?" Kitty kicked her feet nervously.

"I got sent out," she replied truthfully. Megan wondered what sort of teacher Miss Munroe was and what sort of punishment Kitty would get.

"For what?"

"Talking."

"Kitty, this is the third time this week..." Her voice trailed off and Megan knew she was considering what to do with her – she wanted to talk to Megan but she should deal with Kitty too. "Alright Kitty, listen. I'll let you off this time but only because I need to talk to Megan. If it happens again, detention for a week. Now, hurry off back to class." Kitty let out a triumphant hiss and...vanished. Megan was about to ask how she'd just gone, but Miss Munroe began first.

"Come with me, Megan," she stated firmly, taking the girl by the hand and leading her into a room. Plush carpet covered the floor, so deep that Megan's feet almost sank into it completely. She could feel how light the room was in her mind, the 'heat' coming from the far wall. "Take a seat." She sat Megan down in a comfortable, cushioned chair. Megan could feel her mother beside her, even more nervous than before. That worried her but she was determined to be strong, and so held her chin up and straightened her back proudly. She would handle it. "I presume Kitty told you a bit about this school?"

"If you mean it's for mutants, then yes," Megan answered frankly. Her mother gave out a slight hiss that seemed to Megan both annoyed and fearful.

"You're right there," Miss Munroe told her warmly. "We take in mutants and educate them so that in time they can take a place in society with the skills they need. Most of the students here are runaways, unaccepted by their hometowns, sometimes even by their families. They come here as a refuge."

"Cool," Megan remarked slowly. It seemed to be the only appropriate thing to say. After a pause, she hesitantly asked, "Why am I here, then?" Beside her, her mother froze and turned to her sharply.

"Megan, I-" Anne began, but she cut herself off. There was a long silence before she began, sounding more delicate and fragile than Megan had ever heard her sound. "Meggie honey, you're...we think you're a mutant."

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The girl formerly known as Marie D'Ancanto sat on her window ledge, a curtain of dark brown hair concealing one side of her pale face. Rogue spent a lot of her time that way, watching the other students go about their business or, if it was a cold day, simply watching the wind in the trees and the movement of the clouds. The other students may have named Jubilee as Gossip Queen but only because they had no idea how much Rogue saw. It gave her a bizarre interest to watch other people live normally, able to hold hands, hug, kiss and simply touch. She found it amusing that once she had been just like that, like what she now saw as a privilege. For a short time – three months to be precise – she had been privileged enough to touch again, but three months was too short. Far too short to do what she wanted to do. And Bobby...it was like he didn't believe it, didn't trust her, didn't _appreciate_ how privileged she was. It was like he had known all along that it would come to an end and when it did, he was more supportive than she'd ever thought he would be. Still, as ungrateful as she knew it was, she wished he'd been a bit more enthusiastic when she had been able to touch him. Screw calling it a privilege – it shouldn't be.

She hadn't believed it at first, that the Cure was failing. She had seen it on the news, reports of mutants who'd regained their powers unexpectedly, causing terrible accidents. She'd crossed her fingers and prayed, repeating in her head that it was just a fluke and her powers were gone for good. Her kisses with Bobby became more desperate while he became more distant and she could tell he was scared, scared for himself. And it made her furious. She had shouted at him, shouted at the world, shouted into her pillow for all the good it did her. She refused to believe that God would be that cruel. Meanwhile, people began to avoid touching her and everything that she'd wanted became her worst nightmare. It had been an accident, when it came back. She had been in Maths, queuing up for a homework sheet, when the kid in front of her tripped. Rogue grabbed his arm to stop him falling and that was when she felt it. That _feeling, _alien and unnatural, the feeling of someone's life being mixed with your own. The feeling that she hated more than anything. And she gave up denying it.

Rogue had her own room, a few doors down from Logan. In a way, she loved it more than anywhere else – it was her refuge, her sanctuary. But then, as Logan had told her so many times, she couldn't hide forever. She did her best at being normal but sometimes – most of the time, in fact – it was too hard. It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming, 'It isn't _fair_!' Sure, it wasn't, but what could anyone else do. This was something that no one could change. It was no one's fault but more than anything she wished it was, so that she could direct her pure fury at something real. The pent-up anger got worse when she went out, when she saw people hugging and holding hands and just touching without even realising how much it meant. She wanted to scream at them, but it wasn't their fault either. She hated the isolation she had thrown herself into, a self-built prison she couldn't escape. Her room was her prison too, a double-edged sword. More than anything what she wanted was _someone_, someone to simply be there for her and understand her. But, from what Rogue had already judged of her fate, she wasn't the lucky type.


End file.
